The Arena
by Happy Fingers
Summary: Wizards and Witches are going missing.Officially,the Ministry is baffled.Unofficially? Well, let's just say that the Ministry has been aware of the Arena for quite some time,and even Harry Potter,the famous Boy Who Lived,is not exempt from it's clutches..


**!NOTE! **This is just a preliminary chapter, just to see what everybody thinks about this. It's been lingering in my notebook for a while so I thought I'd just post it while I work on my other pieces. Please review if you can!

**The Arena**

_By Happy Fingers_

**Prelude**

"You brought a **wizard…here…now**!?" he exclaimed, his bloodshot eyes bulging from their sockets, looking as if they were about to burst. His once smooth white suit was suddenly creased and dislodged, effectively mirroring his facial expression.

The small little man that sat in the chair opposite him kind of nodded while screwing up his face. He knew he'd made a mistake as soon as the fateful sentence had finished gliding of his nervous tongue. His bony little fingers twitched around each other, and as his white suited superior shot an angry glare towards them he hastily shoved them deep within his pockets, instead focusing his attention on biting his lower lip. The room around them was silent, each of the guards watching them, some feeling sorry for the little man, others laughing at him.

"What were you **thinking**!? A **Wizard**, do you have **any **idea what they're **capable of**!?" the man bellowed, a vain in his neck pulsating violently, as he removed a white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his brow with it.

"B-but s-sir, I-I took his wand!" the little man reasoned standing from his chair, holding up the little stick and shaking it slightly

The two men jumped as sharp red sparks flew out the end of it, and the little man threw it from his hands, as if it had burnt him. It landed with a clatter on the floor next to the polished mahogany desk. The suited man strode up to his employee, his face inches from the little mans nose. He spoke slowly, and sharply, enunciating every word.

"They can still do magic without their wands **idiot**!" he hissed with bulging eyes.

Any further conversation was abruptly cut short as the large double doors to the office burst open with a crash, and in walked an incredibly fat man , accompanied by two rather frightening looking bodyguards that walked either side of him.

"Where is he?" the large man bellowed, his fat red face, taking a large drag of his equally large cigar as he reached the desk and glared at the two men who stood by it. It was actually quite amazing that his suit actually fitted around the large bellied man, his polished shoes clicking against the pristinely polished floor.

The two men by the desk looked as if they'd seen a ghost as they watched the man move to sit in the large leather chair that was previously occupied.

"W-Where's w-who?" the white suited man asked, with a slight quiver. The office lights clearly lighting up the beads of sweat that had reformed on the man's brow.

"The guy that got the Veneficus!" the fat man coughed, spitting out a small segment of cigar that was rolling around his fat, slobbery tongue.

The little man that had backed away from the table now took a step forward smiling widely, holding up his dirty hand.

"That would be me s-sir!" he chirped, his eyes gleaming, awaiting the praise he had originally expected to receive, while ignoring the glare from his superior.

The fat man looked at him and laughed loudly, as if he was somewhat surprised that someone like him would have been able to obtain something so rare as a Veneficus. The Ring market had been slow recently, but a Veneficus in the Arena, well, that would bring out everyone, the bids would be going so high, he'd **never** have to work again.

"Well. Well done son. Did ya collar the little bugger'!?" he asked, tapping his cane rhythmically against the tiled floor.

The suited man soon caught on and did not hesitate to take credit for his employee's efforts.

"Ah. Ummm..yes, yes, he's collared, I believe he's in the cell, right Winston?" he asked, coughing slightly, while ignoring the death glare the skinny Wilson was giving him, furious that his employer who had just reprimanded him was now taking all the credit.

"Yes sir" he said through gritted teeth.

"Well then, let's see him!" laughed the suited man, blissfully ignorant to the malicious undercurrent now coursing between the two men.

Everyone began out file out the office, Winston hastily picking up the wand that lay on the floor as if it was an explosive.


End file.
